The Clown And The Crooner

TOM JICHA TV/RADIO WRITER

November 24, 2002|By Tom Jicha TV/Radio Writer

Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis were as big as it gets for 10 years, from the mid-'40s to mid-'50s. As a comedy act, they ranked with all-time greats such as Laurel & Hardy and Abbott & Costello. But the act was never really a team.

When Dean and Jerry exited stage right, they left each other's lives until the next performance. Each resented the attention and praise afforded the other, and these petty jealousies ultimately proved lethal to their collaboration. After a decade of SRO nightclub gigs, a series of boffo box-office movies and a smash NBC variety hour, they broke up in 1956, while still at the top of their game, to pursue individual careers.

The giddy highs and ugly lows of their time together are brilliantly captured in tonight's CBS biographical drama Martin and Lewis. Craig Zadan and Neil Meron, producers of the exquisite Life With Judy Garland: Me and My Shadows (as well as the charming fantasies Annie and Cinderella) have come through with another scintillating profile of show-business legends. The screenplay is unsparingly honest and exceptionally well played. The audience gets not only a taste of the antics that made Martin and Lewis superstars, but also a glimpse behind the curtain at their indiscretions and the demons that drove them apart.

Zadan and Meron either have an uncanny knack for casting or they are able to coax career best efforts from their stars. Judy Davis and Tammy Blanchard each won Emmys for Garland's biography, and the performances of Jeremy Northam and Sean Hayes, as Dean and Jerry, respectively, seem destined to garner year-end recognition. They are as credible in their daunting roles as Brad Garrett was as Jackie Gleason last month.

Hayes has such a grip on the manic energy and overly dramatic theatrics of Lewis that he could be host of next year's Labor Day telethon. An Emmy winner as flamboyant Jack McFarland on Will & Grace, he said he was overwhelmed and frightened by the challenge of bringing an icon, still alive and well known by the public, to the screen. A piece of advice he received from Lewis put him somewhat at ease and colored his performance: "`Always keep the 9-year-old alive,' he told me," said Hayes. "I put it on a Post-it."

Lewis was not always favorably disposed toward the project. "When he first heard about it, I got a call from his agent that he was furious, raging mad," Zadan said. "Then we shipped him the script and he loved us. `This is my legacy,' he said. `I would really like to help.' From then on, he was on the phone twice a week."

Martin's representatives, who didn't have as much leverage because the star has passed on, also cooperated with the production to a greater extent than merely signing off on using his music. But if there was a quid pro quo, it is not apparent. The film is not a hatchet job, but Martin comes off the worse of the two.

Northam, best known to American audiences for Gosford Park and An Ideal Husband, camouflages his British heritage as the laid-back Italian kid from Philadelphia. Prudently, he is spared the imposing task of trying to imitate Martin's distinctive vocal styling. Zadan and Meron opted for the course of least resistance, allowing Northam to lip-synch to the real thing. This didn't afford him a total pass. With the audience hearing the real Dean one moment, then Northam the next, "I had to go a bit further in mimicking Dean's voice," the actor said.

He received the ultimate compliment from Lewis, according to Zadan. "Jerry said Jeremy had every one of his partner's mannerisms down so pat, it was scary."

Martin and Lewis epitomized the whole being greater than the sum of the parts. The film picks up with Jerry as a failing burlesque comic in the early '40s. His routine is all physical comedy because of a foible as disabling for a comedian as fear of the dark would be for a night watchman: Jerry is petrified to talk in front of crowds. Martin, meanwhile, is a saloon crooner of no particular note. He's been bankrupt three times and his wife is pleading with him to return to Philadelphia and get a real job.

The turning point comes when Jerry, as an exercise to overcome his fear of public speaking, emcees a show headlined by Dean. The nervous Jerry reverts to pratfall humor, interrupting a Martin tune. Rather than throwing a hissy fit, Dean picks up on it and, with feigned annoyance, begins to banter with Jerry. The crowd loves the improvisation. The audience is still on its feet cheering the two when Jerry is backstage imploring Dean to join with him as a regular act. "I go solo," Martin says, blowing off the would-be partner.